“You’re handy,” Libby said, grinning at him.
“That’s the idea,” he said, setting the trough upright and laying the hose inside it, watching the water pool inside as it filled.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, her tone somber.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You have any ideas?”
Surprisingly she nodded. “Do you really want to hear it?” Her mouth and eyes were serious.
“Yes,” he said.
“Okay,” she said. “Let me just say that I speak the following with all the kindness I possess,” she studied him, her hand on her chest.
He nodded for her to continue.
“I think you need to get over it,” she said.
His eyebrows came up. “Come again?”
“Get over it.” Her expression was set, fierce.
“Get over it?” he repeated. “Just like that?”
“Get over it however you need to, but yes.”
Unfathomable. How could she stand in the middle of a horse pasture, living in her comfortable house in a quaint area of the Pacific Northwest, where she worked from home, and have the audacity to tell him to “get over it”? Obviously his generalized story of last night had not illustrated the stakes. Her idea of a poor childhood was absent parents who couldn’t give a shit about her, because they were too busy tinkering with the boy below them. What the hell did she know about this? What did she know about any of it?
Ten years of living outside, keeping himself clear of attention and curiosity, had taught him patience and how to reign in any flare of anger he might feel. But so fiery was his temper that Jaden had to walk away from her to catch his breath and count to ten. He told himself Libby did not, could not, understand what Archcroft had done to him. Was that a valid excuse? How could she speak with so much authority? Jaden cared about her—he had never been happy until he met her—but she had no right to tell him to simply “get over it.”
“You know something?” Jaden said, facing a fence post, surprised by his calmness. “When people talk, they look in your eyes.” He came back to her, crossed his arms. “It’s one thing I like about people. Conversations are eye to eye. Most don’t notice the scars on my hands. Those who do believe the lie I feed them, a fishing accident. My hands are the one thing I can’t cover all the time.
“You want to hear a story? For two of the six years I spent underground, I lived in pain, pain so bad I couldn’t sleep, even if I was allowed to. And on one of those happy nights, a man came into my cell. I knew he wasn’t supposed to be there, no one was. He came in with handcuffs and a baton.”
Libby crossed her arms, but not out of defense or anger.
“Like you have already pointed out, I let them control me. You’re right, I gave them everything, even my own mind, which I promised myself in the beginning I’d never give. Well, this man wanted to take more.” He stepped closer, staring into her welling eyes. “He cuffed me and shoved me to the wall, choking me, and said I had to do whatever he told me.
“I wasn’t going to give him anything. I overpowered him, grabbed the baton and caved his fucking head in.”
Libby touched her face and shivered.
“I’m not sorry. He didn’t deserve to live. But that wasn’t the end. The next day, when everyone saw Hoganoff’s dead body in my cell, they looked at me like I wasn’t there. Everything I did in that place, every move made, was watched. I couldn’t sleep without being given expressed permission from Joseph, so I knew killing one of his people would mean trouble.
“They took me up to a room, and two men held me down,” he said in a low voice. “Joseph Madrid came in with a hot branding iron and told me how dare I. He told me I was his property, and didn’t have any rights over myself.”
Their eyes were locked together. She needed to see to understand. A story was only a compilation of words until it had imagery. In ten years he had shown no one. Libby was the first.
He lift his shirt.
Burned into his skin, northwest of his navel, was a large “A” the height and width of Libby’s palm. The skin was shiny, melted over ten years ago by a hot iron.
Tears rolled down Libby’s cheeks. Her watery gaze moved from his eyes to the scar on his stomach. With a finger she wiped her eyes, but used her other hand to reach to him, touching the old burn.
Her touch was gentle and warm. Her fingers lightly touched his stomach as they slid to his back. Lips trembling, she asked something he did not expect: “What else did he do?” Like her touch, her clement soft voice enchanted him, juxtaposing her intense stare.
“What?” he asked, afraid he hadn’t heard correctly.
Libby smiled sadly. “What else did he do?”
“Why do—”
“This is poison,” she said, her hands gripping his waist. “It needs to come out of you. So tell me. Please tell me. You want me to understand? You have to tell me. What else did Madrid do?”
Her voice was calm, the tears were dammed by her lower eyelids. Staring at her, listening to how she spoke, Jaden wasn’t afraid of losing her esteem. She truly wanted to know, to understand and believe him.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his insides felt ready to burst. It was not sadness, or shame. Her question, poised with delicacy and care, was an admission of her true desire to know and connect with him. Knowing was acceptance.
She nodded.
In that horse pasture, surrounded by trees and an almost surreal, picturesque mountain landscape, Jaden told her everything. He always believed talking about the past would not lessen the present pain. And it didn’t. What had been done would always be so. Relaying the stories to another did not make the memories easier to bear. Lies, fake stories he told for ten years, masked real events. He told lies so people would not see him differently, so they wouldn’t see him at all. For ten years his fear, second to being found, was the possibility he would never know closeness to another. In order to be close to her, she had to know everything. Though Libby could never fully understand, and he hoped she never would, knowing the truth of him and what fires he’d passed through, was liberating. There would be no hiding, no excuses.
The invisible scar of dried tears, perhaps forever, seemed more painful than the others. His trapped grief had no release. Libby cupped his face in her hands and rest her forehead on his, standing on her toes to reach him.
“It’s time to stop running,” she whispered. “Fight for your life. Take it back.” Her hands ran through his hair. “Kill that son of a bitch and be done with it.”
He stared at her and realized, after a fly landed on his chin, that his mouth was open.
“But—”
“You should be livid that this monster is chasing you. He’s a twisted, evil man. He should be running from you. As soon as you broke out of that place he should’ve been sick with fear that you would find him.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, not sure what to say.
Libby was not shying away, but standing firm, her eyes locked on his.
“I wish I could,” he said meekly.
“Stop wishing. Do it.”
“That’s so easy for you to say,” he replied.
She nodded. “I’ve never been through what you have. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong. You have to decide how much power you’re going to keep giving him. You bombed your own building trying to kill him. You do want to take your life back?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“Then why can’t you take it?” she asked.
“Because,” he replied.
“Because why? Live your life the way you want. Take it back.”
“I can’t,” he said, and he remembered the night he escaped, how he was unable to summon courage to get off the floor, do what he needed to and free himself.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I’m terrified.”
His quiet words hung on the air between them. His lips went numb.
Libby nodded,
her grip tightened. “I know. But that’s not who you are. There’s courage and bravery in you, I know it. You have to find it, Jaden. You can’t spend your life like this. You’ve had a shit life, I get that. Isn’t twenty-five years enough? Don’t you want to spend the rest of it free and happy?”
He could not answer; his voice wouldn’t work. Libby’s intense blue eyes burned into him. Her grip was strong. Jaden rested his hands in the crooks of her elbows.
Libby sighed, and her eyes softened. She collected him to her, kissing his cheek then hugging him tight. “There’s a lion in you,” she whispered in his ear. “You have to let it out. You have the power.” She rest her forehead on his and smiled demurely. “Now let’s get out of this horse pasture so you can brush your teeth,” she whispered. “And shave.”
He tried to smile, but hugged her instead, holding her like the slight breeze was strong enough take her away.
When Libby finished “de-grossifying” herself (her words), and Jaden had shaved, they met in the dining room. Libby was at the computer, her wet hair in a bun, when Jaden came in.
“You look better,” she said, glancing at him. “More human.”
“You too,” he said. He helped himself to her kitchen, pulling things from the cabinets. He was tired of sandwiches, but Libby’s selection was thin, and he wasn’t going to complain. Jaden made a mental note to restock her holdings.
“Oh my goodness,” she said, her hand to her mouth, looking at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Your building. Your bomb. He’s dead.”
Jaden dropped the bread. No. Impossible.
His own thundering heart nearly drowned out hers. Jaden grabbed a chair and sat before falling.
Libby’s surprised face was blissful. “It’s in the news. ‘Most of the remains collected from the building are still unidentified, though the official toll is now fourteen. However, the body of Joseph Madrid, M.D. (age 76) was found some twenty feet from the burning building yesterday. He was rushed to the hospital with trauma to the head, but pronounced dead on arrival. Madrid was a veteran child psychiatrist and impacted the lives of many,’—yeah, that’s an understatement,” Libby inserted, then continued. “‘Archcroft, the scientific and research center organization and charity that Madrid was deeply involved with,’—yeah, deeper than they know—‘clarified that Madrid was following a lead on a possible location for a new research center in Seattle, and that his fourteen member team had accompanied him to the site. Seattle Police is questioning suspects in the area,’ blah, blah, blah,” she trailed off, then beamed at Jaden. “That’s it, he’s dead!”
He had not been in the building, but obviously close enough to get blasted off his feet. A head injury compounded with age had killed him in the end. He was gone. Joseph Madrid was gone.
But Jaden couldn’t believe it. It had been too easy. Well, maybe not easy, but simpler than his nightmares envisioned for him. Years of research and careful planning led to the successful chemical bomb. Madrid got too close, and now he was dead. It wasn’t impossible, but it felt like it was.
“Were there photos of the body?” Jaden asked, knowing there wouldn’t be.
“No,” she said. “But we can call the morgue.”
“No,” he said. “It’s just hard to believe.”
Seriously hard to believe. Twelve years of his life had been Madrid’s, as Libby had pointed out moments ago. It was almost a fantasy to think it was all over in a blink and a puff of smoke. His disbelief could be attributed to denial.
“You want to jump up and down?” Libby asked, standing, looking like she could lift off the floor all by herself.
He didn’t think he could stand. A pressure was building up behind his eyes, but he still couldn’t cry. His breathing became heavy and he bent forward, putting his head between his knees. The shaking started in his hands then spread throughout his body.
Libby crouched down beside him. “It’s over,” she said soothingly, running her hands through his hair. “It’s done.”
Madrid’s death was just a concept to him. He needed space. Though he delighted being in Libby’s company, he needed to be alone. He retreated to his room and sat in a corner, huddling his knees to his chest. Libby went about her day downstairs, and Jaden heard her getting her horse ready for a ride. He would not join her this time.
Cat slunk into the room, put his tail up when he saw Jaden, and padded over to him. He perched himself on the top of Jaden’s knees, sniffed at his nose, and purred. After head butting him a few times, Jaden dropped his legs to the floor and Cat crawled into his lap and curled himself into a purring ball, kneading his claws in the air.
Was it all over? Could he go out on Monday, tell the State of California he never ran away, and reclaim his identity? Could he apply for a driver’s license, register to vote, get his own job and rejoin society? What about the rest of Archcroft, were they still looking for him, had Madrid told them the secrets to controlling him?
It was impossible to believe. More than half his life was dedicated to fear or hiding from it. Maybe if he had seen the explosion, been there to watch Madrid blasted from the building, bleeding from the head, it would seem real. Even when he called the morgue, if he called them, and he received verbal confirmation that Madrid was dead, would it make any difference?
Perhaps admitting Madrid had passed from this world and into the next, if there was a next, wasn’t the challenge here. How was he supposed to move forward? What would he do with Archcroft and the rest of the people who knew who and what he was?
Libby’s words came to him. She was right, none of it should matter. Enough of his life had been lost to them. Madrid was gone, and that meant no one tugged his leash. There was no leash. With all the power he had, no one could control him. Madrid, as dominating as he was, wouldn’t possibly give away his secrets to anyone else.
“Has the weight been lifted yet?” Libby asked when she returned from a short ride. “Do you feel any different?”
He nodded at her and smiled. “A little.”
“That river in Egypt still bothering you?” she said.
“Sort of. I was thinking maybe it’s time for me to move on. Get out of this house.”
“Good,” she said, “I agree. You’ve got to be going crazy in here.”
It felt too fast, but it probably always would. He’d been cautious for ten years, and now it was time to take his life back. Like ripping off the bandage, or diving into a pool head first, Jaden thought the sooner he stepped out into the world, the better. Voicing it aloud to Libby, the instigator of all things brave, would force him to follow through.
“So what do you want to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “Anything, I guess.”
She grinned. “Well, there’s a soccer game tonight in Seattle. You ever been to a game before?”
“Soccer?”
“Yes, I know it’s not as violent as football, but it’s faster. It takes real men to run for ninety minutes. And I have two free tickets someone gave me because they couldn’t make it tonight.”
“You’re asking me to a game?” he asked.
“No I’m not,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “I’m merely pointing out that I have tickets to a soccer game, then I asked if you’d ever been to a game. If you want to go with me, you have to ask. Those are the rules.”
He felt a lightness he’d never experienced before. “I see. I have to ask you to the game.”
“Precisely.”
It was liberating to smile, not forced, not faked. He was truly free to do as he liked tonight, to take her to Seattle like any other person. Playing this game was fun.
“Libby,” he started, “you want to go to a game tonight?”
She made a face then waited a few seconds. Jaden was annoyed, then nervous for some reason. “Okay,” she said, smirking and laughing to herself. “Let’s go!”
Even though the game wasn’t until this evening
, Jaden wanted to leave for Seattle as soon as possible, to keep himself from chickening out at the last second. Libby popped off the targa top of her del Sol and secured it in the trunk. Jaden thought how nice it would be to drive legally.
They drove to Bainbridge Island to catch the next ferry. Cars were already loading, but Libby parked instead. She giggled as she told Jaden to hurry so they could run and catch it.
They sprinted down the terminal, the only ones doing so, laughing and jumping onto the boat once there. She jogged to the bow, bursting out the heavy door to the bow of the boat, and he followed.
“Ten bucks says some sappy couple’s going to do the whole king of the world thing,” she mumbled, eyeing couples coming on the deck.
“What’s the ‘whole king of the world thing’?” he asked.
“Pop culture isn’t your forte, is it?” she said, squinting in the light.
Jaden watched the other couples, thinking fleetingly that they might be looking at him. There was a lot of hand holding and cuddling, something he thought was more of a private ritual. The ferry hadn’t even pushed away from the dock and a couple was already leaning against a railing, lips locked.
He didn’t register the boat’s movement until he noticed the shore of Bainbridge changing. Libby stood next to him and asked, under her breath so others couldn’t hear, “Could you lift this boat out of the water?”
His lips twist. “Not while I’m on it, but I think so.”
“Not while you’re on it? Why not?”
“I have rules to follow,” he said. “I could turn off the engine, or lift parts of the boat, but I can’t affect anything I’m standing on.”
Libby made a face. “That’s stupid.”
“Those are the rules,” he said. “I didn’t make them up. I can only affect things outside of me. Trial and error,” he added to her puzzled expression. “So if I was riding in a car without gasoline, I could make the wheels spin, but I couldn’t lift the car and make it fly. If that makes sense.”
Jaden Baker Page 47